Twisted
by Elizabeth Collins
Summary: Various drabbles set in different books for the Seven Days of Midwinter at TPE. Prompts: Bound/Twinkling/Dash/Sugar/Snow/Night/Nestled
1. Rust and Barbed Wire

It was snowing gently, and all around him, people rejoiced. He didn't take part – he was a shadow of darkness, wrapped in his own misery. His deadened eyes took note of the bundles his servant was hauling into the carriage, and he lashed out in his despair. "Don't touch it. Give it here!" The hands that grasped the sodden package were chapped, but glowing with a weak colour – the colour of rust and dried blood.

"Yes, Master." The servant backed away, intimidated. "The Midwinter gift..."

"Take it; I don't want it." The cool air echoed with a dry, wracking sob.


	2. Remembrances

Green eyes glinted from a window – the view was obscured by snow and the darkness of night. A candle had been placed on the decorated sill; Aly took it and surveyed her family and friends. Taybur was present, and acute; the mischief in his face showed through his eyes. What contrast to the hawk that had been Bronau–had there ever been honest pleasure in those steel-silver doors to his injured soul?

Petranne, talking to Nuritin earnestly, stood by the fireplace.

"Can you hear the bells; see a star?"

"Yes, Petranne."

Aly smiled as Trick sighed happily on her shoulder.


	3. Playful Romping

The colourful dragon whistled cheerfully as she ran on her small feet through a patch of watering snow. Her blue-green scales glistened with melting flakes, but she didn't feel the coolness in the air.

"Oh, Skysong, I'll never catch you," Tkaa the basilisk said in his airy voice. He seemed quite at ease, and enjoyed watching the antics and pastimes of the little creature. It made him feel something close to youthful, and he liked the carefree sensation. The crisp, fresh smell of clean snow permeated his senses, and he was content just to breathe it in.

"Happy Midwinter, Skysong."


	4. Kept Charm

Yes, Midwinter. The time she had flirted her best; the time she had held Jonathan's fist in her own cold one. She looked with empty, once captivating green eyes at the occasional flake that flitted through the bars. _I will never be what I have once been. _Her hand curled in the fabric of her tattered dress.

A guard came in to check on her, smiling sleepily. "You care for a Midwinter kiss, sweet?"

Her eyes shuttered closed. She was not a stranger to this, but she would refuse.

"No, I don't."

Her voice, though hoarse, was sweet as sugar.


	5. Concealed

Her snapping black eyes contrasted with the snow, and her pale skin. This did not suit her, he knew. She was filled with life, with fervour – but it was buried deep in the puzzling eyes and polite exterior. The man had talked to her; he had tried to understand the complex maze of emotional yet emotionless. Her outer, thick kimono flapped in the wind as she walked with small steps toward him, and he held his breath ever so slightly. Was she on the verge of saying something? No; the eyes turned downward, and she covered her white, soft-featured face.


	6. Tied to the Night

Gainel the Dream King saw the flakes; he heard the happy shrieks of the children rise in an echo. The god did not feel, he only imagined, and faintly held a connection when people took part in his worlds. Midwinter was a celebration for Mithros, and people were inclined to exult. To ruin this representation and send harrowing images torn roughly from Chaos was unpardonable, but –

People rarely felt the night. When thought of, their minds conjured terrible things, like a sharp-beaked owl, or a hissing snake. But it truly held wonderful things, and Midwinter wasn't only about the Sun.


	7. One

Her eyes tilted up to her husband's warm brown ones. "Look at our little birds," she said, indicating her children playing happily around them.

"They are my pride," he told her softly. "I am a fortunate man. I have my nestlings, a comfortable home, and you, my clever Aly, from whom I can always count on for a jest."

Her knees felt weak, and she smiled widely. The fire on the hearth crackled, and she breathed the woodsy scent. White covers enveloped them both, and she laid her head on his shoulder.

She would never admit her loss of words.


End file.
